


Revelations

by saraid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: An episode tag, of sorts.





	Revelations

"CASSANDRA! I want him to live!" Duncan MacLeod's voice  
rang out and the echo hung in the damp air.

On his haunches on a catwalk, looking down at them, shadowed  
and sweaty, his hair tangled and wild, he looked like the  
barbarian he'd once been.

The only other sound was Methos' gulping sobs.

Behind him, where he crouched defenseless on hands and  
knees, his body and mind struggling to deal with the overload of  
the Quickening he'd just absorbed, the witch of Duncan's  
childhood threw Silus' axe from her. It landed with a crash and  
she held Duncan's eyes.

"It will never be over, Highlander." she snarled.

Duncan rocked forward, hands on the floor, as she turned and  
walked away without a backward glance.

Leaving him. Because of this lying, murderous, ancient man  
who had once offered him his head so that he could kill another  
who deserved it.

Duncan rubbed his face with both hands, trying to understand  
what had just happened.

Methos continued crying. Heartwrenching sobs of anguish that  
tore at his throat and caught his breath.

Slowly Duncan stood, arms hanging limply at his sides. His  
entire body ached from the energy he'd absorbed. It had been the  
strongest quickening he'd ever taken. He felt charged with energy  
but simultaneously exhausted.

He wanted to stretch, to scream, to leap, but at the same  
time knew he should be still, be calm, be quiet. 

It was coming. Judging from the amount of energy he'd  
absorbed it would be powerful and violent.

The sobs below him were dying down. He leaned over the rail  
and watched as the other man sat up, leaning back on his knees,  
bracing himself with his hands on his knees as he tried to  
breathe, head thrown back as if offering his head to all comers.

Duncan felt it then. A ripple ran through him, from his head  
and down his stomach, settling firmly in his groin. He bit back a  
groan.

A Quickening was energy. It was the agony and ecstasy of  
birth, pain and release ripping through one like lightning,  
orgasmic. That energy had to go someplace. In Duncan -- in most  
of the Immortals he'd met -- it became sexual.

It left an afterglow, a heightened sense of perception, and  
a hunger. 

Duncan felt that hunger now. Rationally he knew he should  
leave, should get out of here, should find an isolated spot to  
wait it out.

Irrationally his eyes were drawn to his once-friend, who was  
now looking up at him with that same hunger in his clouded eyes.

They had shared this Quickening. The tremendous amounts of  
energy unleashed had been drawn to each other and bound them  
together at the pinnacle.

Some feeling of that still remained. A faint echo of what  
he'd read in Methos' heart while they were joined. 

Did Methos retain a sense of him as well?

Their eyes locked in the dimness. Duncan put his hands on  
the railing and went over it in a smooth motion, landing catlike,  
ignoring the shock that ran through his legs, the startling  
increase in pain that faded as he straightened and took a step.

"MacLeod." Methos was staring at him. Was it a warning or an  
invitation?

Duncan didn't care. He knew he should, but...he walked to  
Methos, who didn't move, and lowered himself to his knees behind  
him, wrapping his arms around him, pressing close. His body  
surged with renewed energy, fiercely eager for contact.

"Methos." he wasn't asking permission. His hands, broad and  
strong, ran down the lean chest, feeling it heave beneath the  
knit sweater, and began unbuckling his belt.

A shudder ran through the older man. He leaned his head back  
on Duncan's shoulder, his eyes closing tightly, a grimace on his  
face. But he didn't say anything.

Duncan's body sang with need as he roughly pushed Methos'  
jeans down over his slim hips to his knees. It only took a minute  
to unzip his own looser pants and then his erection was pressing  
firmly against Methos' ass, the tight secret opening that yielded  
to him as the old man groaned loudly and began to shake, Duncan's  
hands on his hips holding him steady, forcing him to be still  
while Duncan entered him.

The sensation was so overpowering that Duncan buried his  
face in Methos' neck, closing his teeth over the sensitive spot  
where neck met shoulder, sinking them in deep, drawing blood,  
hanging on, in the heat of the moment not caring at all.

Methos bucked against him and he wrapped his arms around  
him, trapping his against his sides, like iron, forcing him to be  
still, to relax and accept the invasion.

They both froze, a sculpture brought to life.

Methos gasped and then groaned again.

Duncan fought for breath, his own hair in his face, tangled  
and sweaty, obscuring his vision. He closed his eyes and let the  
feelings flow through him.

He'd had sex after a Quickening before, but it had never  
been like this. It was like he was touching the other man's soul,  
and it was a sucking maelstrom of images, impressions that he had  
to deal with in addition to the intense physical response. 

He saw flashes from Methos' past, undecipherable out of  
context, people and places and things he, Duncan, had never seen  
or done. There was no cohesion, no sense of order...was this what  
the Quickening had done to Methos? Or was his mind always like  
this after five millennia of life?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Methos was  
yielding to him, opening his legs, leaning into him, silently  
asking him to go on. 

Duncan moved. A groan hissed between his clenched teeth and  
he tasted Methos' blood in his mouth.

"MacLeod," Methos whispered, his voice touching Duncan like  
a caress. "MacLeod."

There were no more words as Duncan increased his rhythm,  
holding Methos still and pounding into him with abandon. He'd  
never been this rough with a woman, never felt the urge to do  
this to a man, but it felt good. Better than good. It was the  
Quickening again, a smaller storm, less powerful, but more  
intense, more concentrated in those areas that mattered.

Almost as an afterthought he dropped one restraining --  
supporting? -- hand to Methos' hardness and closed his fingers on  
it. Methos arched into it, almost pulling himself free of Duncan,  
and Duncan squeezed hard, forcing him back. He controlled Methos'  
movement with that hand on his penis, settling himself even  
deeper within him, and then, with a howl, Methos came. In  
Duncan's hand, hot and sticky, spraying over his own stomach ,  
the clenching of his muscles around him causing Duncan to slam  
into him one last time, grabbing his hips brutally tight, lifting  
him off the floor with the effort, bruising, shuddering in  
silence and then sagging down behind him.

Their panting filled the air. Duncan could smell himself,  
and Methos, a wash of man and sweat and ozone, and the  
unmistakable scents of sex, semen, and blood.

He realized his teeth were still clenched in the other man's  
skin. Startled, he pulled his mouth away, tasting the blood in  
his mouth, seeing it flow sluggishly from the wound for several  
seconds before the blue sparks of healing took over.

"I dinna mean ta hurt yew." he rasped at last, acutely aware  
of the contours of the body he held.

"Life hurts, MacLeod." the voice was without condemnation,  
but also without approval. 

Still angry, now confused, Duncan pulled himself from  
Methos' body, making the older man wince. He stood and moved  
away, fastening up his pants, not looking at him.

"Duncan." he heard the voice at his shoulder, didn't look  
up.

"MacLeod." the voice was insistent.

Now he did look. There was nothing to read in Methos' eyes.

"Thank you for my life. Again." it sounded sincere.

Duncan managed a nod.

Methos turned from him, picking up his sword and walking  
away. Duncan watched him, feeling the confusion grow and threaten  
to spill over and drown him.

"Methos -!" he shouted, not so loud as it seemed.

Methos turned, stopped. There was almost a smile on his  
lips.

"I'll see you later, MacLeod." he called back, his smooth  
tenor voice sliding through the damp.

Then he turned and continued walking.

Duncan watched him until he was out of sight, then gathered  
up his sword and Silus' axe and went home. 

He tried very hard not to think about what he's just done.

But his mind stubbornly returned to the intense pleasure  
he'd felt with his one-time friend in his arms.


End file.
